Do you believe in rapture? While I was looking down at the hot, sweaty, sticky, giant mass of flesh, I almost wished God existed so he could end all of their wretched lives.

My guests jumped up and down to the beat of the music. Beads of sweat gathered on their foreheads, eventually clumping together to form one big ball as the sun beamed down on them, casting its light bright enough for everyone at the party to be revealed and seen for who they really are. And they are scum.

I stood on my balcony, watching from above as my so-called friends were having the time of their lives. And how could they not? Free drugs, free drinks, easy women, easier guys; it was like a teenagers wet dream. And as I grabbed the bottle of champagne from the balcony I thought about how pathetic they are, pathetic for relying on other people their whole life, pathetic for not knowing how to live on their own, pathetic for thinking the only way they could have fun was when they’re black-out drunk, fucking random strangers and snorting lines of cocaine from of each other’s stomachs. I scoffed as I shook the bottle of champagne, aiming it at the eager masses.

Almost as if in slow motion, the golden liquid that suppressed anxiety, doubt, and fear rained down from above, splashing against the sweaty and aching skin of these “people”. How could they even call themselves that at this point? At this gathering of swine, it didn’t matter if you were five hundred pounds, balding, and haven’t showered in over a week, or if you were a heroin addict covered in track marks, because if you were part of this group, you were part of their family, a family of filth. I have no empathy for these repulsive humans.

Disgust and loathing is present throughout the group. Hate is flowing freely through person to person, even though they misinterpret the hate as love, as amusement. This mass suicide is funny in that way. No one here wants that, yet everyone here wants that. They are garbage.

Primal lust and animalistic hygiene covered them, overtaking their sensibilities and judgment. These humans are disgusting and make me feel ashamed, ashamed and embarrassed for everyone who is counting on them to carry on this nation.

When I look down from my balcony, I see girls, their skin glistening from a sickening combination of sweat, saliva, and alcohol, and I see men chasing them around like children following their soccer ball into the street, not realizing that a car is speeding down the road, about to end their life. As I splatter the champagne on them, I find myself wanting to laugh simply out of spite. How does that work? Am I the sociopathic one for enjoying myself watching them kill themselves? They would do it anyhow. How am I the crazy one? All these people, not even people, just animals, animals only pleasing their most basic instincts, are only hurting themselves and everyone else. They are killing us all, and I’m the crazy one?

After all these years of loathing and self-hate, it is now my turn to laugh, laugh at the girls who would refuse to date me, who are now celebrating their bodies in a sticky and depressing orgy. Hedonists are what they are. As for those boys who would push me around and laugh at me, now I’m treating them like circus animals. They are nothing but entertainment for me in the simplest way possible, jumping around as if they’re trapped in a cage and filled with no purpose.

I feel ashamed for all of us, but if I can’t change what is happening, then why wallow in self-pity? Because if I did, in a way all of those people would win. But now, as I watch them snort line after line of coke and pop pill after pill of ecstasy, as I watch them slowly deteriorate with every bottle of beer that they drink, as I watch them gradually kill themselves with every passing minute, now, I am the victor.

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